All The World's A Stage
by em j
Summary: ...And the men and women merely players.' Something a bit different, charting Sara's life from the day of her birth.
1. Act One

_I am rather nervous about posting this because it is so different to anything else I have written, and I hope people enjoy it! It tracks Sara's life from birth to death and containsmy own take on Sara's past. Obviously most of this is merely speculation. If any of it clashes with either your own personal views of Sara's childhood or anything we have learnt from the series, but I have missed, then I apologize. We probably all have our own ideas about Sara and her mysterious past! Anyway, reviews would be welcome because I'm rather uncertain about this. Thanks!_

_Em x

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_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

_**Act One**_

The curtains draw on a peaceful scene. A new mother, cheeks glowing, lies in a hospital bed. In her arms, a swaddling baby sleeps serenely. The mother, with thick dark hair hanging over her shoulders, looks exhausted but happy. Her baby is beautiful; the spitting image of her. Dappled morning light shines through the window, forming random patterns on the crisp white bed sheets.

A man enters. He is carrying a bag which he places gently by the mother's bedside. She smiles up at him and he returns the smile. He sits himself down on the side of the bed and takes the baby from her arms. He rocks the child gently whilst his wife falls into sleep beside him.

_Rock a bye baby, on the treetop  
__When the wind blows, the cradle will rock  
__When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall  
__Down will come cradle, baby and all…_

**IIII**

Shrill, piercing cries.

"How can such a small thing make such a lot of noise?"

The woman, her once lush, thick hair now hanging lank on her shoulders, desperately makes attempts at hushing her child.

"I'm doing my best."

Her husband turns the television up, causing the little baby to cry even more.

**IIII**

The baby is teething. Her mother has had no sleep for days. Just as she is beginning to rest on the sofa, the crying starts again. She stands up and moves over to the cradle. Picking up her baby she feels so much love; she would do anything for her child.

"I love you, Sara."

She wanders the house, baby in arms, until Sara is asleep. Then she slowly places her back in her cradle and enters her own bedroom. She lies down on the bed, fully clothed, and shuts her eyes. All is peaceful, until the front door opens.

"I'm starving. You better have something better for dinner than last night."

She sighs and gets herself up once again.

"It will be ready in half an hour."

"Half an hour? I work hard all day and you can't even have dinner on the table when I get home!"

And Sara begins to cry again.

**IIII**

Sara is almost walking. She pulls herself onto her feet and toddles across the floor. She has only taken a few steps when she falls. She bangs her head on the table. She cries. Mummy is out. Daddy is on the sofa. He looks at Sara. He turns the television up. She cries more.

**IIII**

There is a birthday cake. It has two large candles on it. They light up the table. Sara gazes, transfixed. Her mother lifts her up and lets her blow the candles out. She needs some help with that, but she giggles a lot when it's done. Her mother laughs with her. Sara doesn't hear her laugh very often. She eats a big slice of the cake. Then she runs around the house. She got the hang of walking a little while ago. Her mother said she was a very fast learner. Then she is sick, all over the floor. She cries, but her mother tells her not to. So she stops. She tries not to cry very much anymore, especially when her father's around.

"Let's get this cleared up, shall we?"

Sara's mother does so. Sara is hungry again now. She looks longingly at the cake but her mother puts it away in the fridge. When Sara's father gets home he doesn't eat cake or play games. He shouts a little, but that's normal. Sara goes to bed. She wishes it was her birthday every day.

_Happy Birthday to you,__  
Happy Birthday to you,  
__Happy Birthday dear Sara,  
__Happy Birthday to you._

**IIII**

One day, Daddy doesn't come home from work. Mummy cries a lot. Sara, who has had another birthday since the last one, but didn't get cake this time, tells her not to. Mummy still cries, but she squeezes Sara very tight. It hurts a little, but Sara doesn't say. Daddy still isn't there the next day, or the next day. Mummy cries quite a lot. Sara wants to go to the park, but they hardly ever go now. They hardly ever leave the house at all.

They did go to the hairdresser's last week though. Mummy had her hair cut off. Sara always loved her Mummy's hair but when she told Daddy that she wished she hadn't had it cut, he said:

"Be quiet, or we'll cut your hair off too."

Sara was very upset, but she didn't cry. She doesn't cry any more.

She spends the two days watching a lot of television. She is beginning to feel very hungry but she doesn't ask Mummy for food because the last time she did that, Mummy started crying.

The next day, Daddy comes back. He and Mummy hug a lot, and Mummy cries some more. Then everything is normal again.

**IIII**

One day, Daddy decides to take Sara to the park. That is very funny because Daddy never takes Sara out. She is very happy. They go out together for a walk. Sara gets tired half way. Daddy puts Sara on his shoulders and they play games. It is great fun. When they come home, Mummy has made dinner. The whole family sits together and eats. And they laugh.

The next day, Sara asks Daddy, "Can we go to the park again?"

He shouts. A lot. Sara doesn't ask again, ever.

But she always remembers that day.

**IIII**

On Sara's fourth birthday, she feels very grown up.

"You're a big girl now," Mummy says.

Mummy invites a friend round. She has a little girl too. Sara and the little girl play together. She has a cake again. They all eat a lot, but this time Sara isn't sick. They all sing 'Happy Birthday' and Sara even joins in with the song. It is a proper party. Mummy and her friend talk and smile a lot. Sara wishes the day would never end. But Sara's friend and her Mummy must go home eventually.

"Don't tell Daddy about our little party," Mummy says. "It can be our little secret."

How exciting, Sara thinks, and nods her head eagerly.

But when Daddy comes home he looks very cross. He comes out of the kitchen holding the box which the cake came in. He shouts at Mummy and Mummy shouts back. Then Daddy goes out. Sara starts crying. She hasn't cried for a long time.

"Don't cry," Mummy says. "You're a big girl now."

Sara really wishes she was a little girl again.

She goes to bed. She doesn't hear Daddy come home but he's at the breakfast table in the morning.

**IIII**

Sara's mother is beginning to look very ill. She has more lines on her face than she used to, Sara notices. And she is always looking at them in the mirror. But Daddy gets cross when he sees her doing that, so she only does it when she's out.

"Look at Mummy's wrinkles, Sara," she says. "Mummy's getting old."

Sara does think Mummy's old, but she doesn't know why that is bad. She wishes she were old. She doesn't like being little anymore. She doesn't get to play games with Mummy, but she still gets sent to her bedroom when Mummy and Daddy are shouting at each other. She wants to shout too. She tells Mummy that.

"Don't be silly, Sara," she replies. "You're only four years old."

Sara says that she doesn't like Mummy and Daddy fighting.

"It's ok, sweetheart. Mummy and Daddy still love each other."

And Sara still loves her Mummy and Daddy. So why aren't they happy? She asks this question a lot.

"You think about things too much, Sara, for a little girl. We are happy."

Sara begins to think that shouting means happy. She is more worried when Mummy smiles. But that's ok, because she doesn't do that very much.

**IIII**

Sara is wandering the house. Mummy is sitting on the sofa reading a magazine. Her hair has grown back. Sara climbs up beside her on the chair and begins to run her hands through it. It is silky and it smells of shampoo.

"What is hair made of, Mummy?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"Because it's so beautiful."

"My hair's not as beautiful as yours. Promise me you'll never have it cut."

Sara promises. She continues to play with her mother's hair. Mummy never does answer her question.

**IIII**

Sara wakes up in bed. She can hear shouting. She gets out of bed and lightly tiptoes to her door. With a small creak, she pushes it open so she can peer through the crack. The noise doesn't disturb her rowing parents, however. She cannot understand it. Apart they can both be so relaxed. Neither gives her strict rules. And even though he shouts at her sometimes, Sara knows that Daddy loves her. She remembers the day in the park. But together, there are no smiles or laughs. Despite what Mummy is always saying, Sara knows they are not happy.

"You don't understand, do you?"

Daddy looks very, very cross. Mummy turns away, but Daddy grabs her arm. She tries to pull away but he pushes her to the ground. In one quick movement he hits her across the face. Sara runs out of her bedroom and bangs straight into Daddy's legs as he turns around.

"Sara? You should be in bed!"

"Go to bed, Sara," Mummy murmurs from the floor.

Sara turns around and walks back into her bedroom. She hears the door slam and counts to ten before peering out again; she sees that Daddy is gone. She wanders out and wraps her arms around Mummy. She is crying. Sara doesn't cry. She hasn't cried since her fourth birthday. She feels grown up.

But now she wishes she wasn't.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_It is customary, but I think it is a mistake, to speak of happy childhood. Children are often over-anxious and acutely sensitive. Man ought to be man and master of his fate; but children are at the mercy of those around them_

Sir John Lubbock


	2. Act Two

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

_**Act Two**_

The curtains draw on a little girl. But she is a bit less little than the last time we saw her. She has a bag on her back. She is smiling a lot. Her mother, also looking older, is holding a camera.

"Say cheese, Sara!"

"Cheese!"

The camera flashes.

Her father comes out of the kitchen. He says he has a present. He hands Sara a pencil case filled with pens and pencils. Her face glows as she hugs her father.

"Have a good day at school, sweetheart."

She walks out of the door, hand in hand with her mother.

**IIII**

Sara is waving her hand eagerly in the air.

"Yes, Sara."

"25."

"Correct."

Sara is smiling, again. She likes school a lot. The teacher told her yesterday that she was a fast learner. Sara can vaguely remember her Mummy telling her that once.

**IIII**

"What does your Mummy read to you, Sara?"

Sara shrugs.

"Well, what do you do with your Mummy after school?"

She shrugs again.

"It's not like you to be so quiet."

Sara pretends she needs to go to the toilet. She doesn't want to say that her Mummy doesn't read to her or play with her or help her with her homework. She is embarrassed.

**IIII**

There is a lamp casting a bright glow on the books on the desk. Sara is sitting at the desk, her brow furrowed with concentration. She puts her pen down.

"Mummy, can you help me with my maths?"

Sara's mother looks exasperated. "Do you ever stop working?"

"I like working."

"Maybe you should go out with your friends."

"I like staying here with you."

Her mother sighs and moves back into the kitchen.

"Mummy?"

"What, Sara?"

"Maths?"

She shakes her head. Sara keeps doing her homework.

**IIII**

A school playground is buzzing with little children. The sound of traditional chants fills the air. Little girls and boys run around and squeal with delight. Except one.

"Can I play?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're weird."

"No I'm not."

"Go and do some more work."

"But I want to play."

"Tough."

The children form a circle, purposefully excluding the hurt but angry little girl with thick brown hair. She goes and sits on the wall and reads a book.

_Ip-dip-doo.  
__The cat's got the flu.  
__The dog's got the chicken-pox,  
__So out goes you._

**IIII**

Sara gets a cake on her seventh birthday. But it only has six candles. She counts them aloud.

"Where's the seventh one, Mum?"

Sara's mother looks upset.

"We only had six. And why am I not Mummy any more?"

"Mummy's childish."

"You are a child."

Sara looks cross. She blows the candles out after Mum and Dad have sung to her, but she won't eat any cake. Mum gets more upset. Sara goes to her bedroom to read a book. She can't concentrate on it because Mum and Dad are shouting at each other.

**IIII**

It is the summer holidays. Sara wants to go on holiday. Mum says they can't afford it. Dad says that's because Mum wastes all their money. Sara wishes she had never said anything. She gets her book out again.

"You're always reading."

"I like reading."

"You should be outside playing."

"I have no one to play with."

"Where are your friends?"

"I don't have any."

"You must have."

"Well, there is Annie."

"Who's Annie?"

"A girl from school."

"Why don't you invite her round to play?"

"I don't want too."

Mum and Dad both look frustrated with Sara. But at least they're not cross with each other, she thinks.

**IIII**

Sara's father has just thrown the cake at the wall, complete with eight candles. Sara shouts at him. Her mother shouts at him. They are all shouting. Sara stops and goes to clear up the mess of cake on the wall and floor. Her parents don't stop arguing. Sara finishes cleaning and stands watching them. They don't seem to notice her. It is getting dark outside. Sara draws the curtains. She tidies up her mother's magazines on the floor. Her parents are still shouting. Sara is in the middle of wiping down the table when she notices the blissful sound of silence. Mum and Dad are hugging each other. They go into their bedroom without a word to Sara. She is hungry but she daren't disturb the peace. She goes into the kitchen and heats up some baked beans. She leaves them for too long and they stick to the bottom of the pan. It takes her a minute to eat but an hour to wash up the pan. It is late before she goes to bed.

_Happy Birthday to me,  
__Happy Birthday to me…_

**IIII**

When Sara wakes up to the sound of smashing crockery she is not surprised. She climbs out of bed and leaves her bedroom. As she does so, a plate smashes into the wall beside her. Her mother begins to cry. Her father leaves the house. Sara clears up the mess.

**IIII**

One day when Sara comes home from school the door is ajar. She pushes it open. The scene is worse than her most awful nightmares. Her father is on the floor surrounded by a puddle of blood. Her mother is sitting on the floor beside him, crying her eyes out. There is no shouting. She wanders into the house in a daze and shuts the door behind her. Slowly she moves over to the telephone. Her mother doesn't acknowledge her. She picks up the phone and dials 911.

"I need some help. My Dad's dead."

**IIII**

Sara doesn't concentrate as a woman takes her hand and leads her out of the apartment. She doesn't want to remember this moment. She suddenly realises she has left her books in the house. She wants to go back. She needs to clear up too. She says so. The lady holding her hand says not to worry. Someone else will do that for her. Sara doesn't want someone else to clean and tidy their house. That's her job. She wants to cry, but she doesn't. Her mother's voice echoes in her head.

"_Don't cry. You're a big girl now."_

Standing around with the lady who she doesn't know, and lots of policemen and strangers, she doesn't feel very big.

**IIII**

Sara is in a new bed, in a new house. She has a new Mum and Dad. They sit and eat dinner together with her new brother. Sara can't remember the last time she sat down to eat dinner with her old Mum and Dad. Her new Mum and Dad help her with her homework. They don't let her watch television after school. Sara doesn't mind this. She never liked television very much anyway. But sometimes she does miss her old Mum and Dad. She asks her new Mum, in between mouthfuls, when she can see her old Mum again. Her new Mum's face goes a funny shade of red. New Dad looks worried. Sara takes another mouthful but all of a sudden she isn't hungry. She plays with the food. Usually new Mum and Dad don't like it when Sara doesn't finish her food but tonight they don't tell her off. She goes to bed early. "I want to read," she says. Her new family reads a lot. New Mum says goodnight and kisses her on the cheek. But Sara isn't really reading. She lies on her new bed and stares at the ceiling. Eventually she falls asleep. She dreams. In her dream she sees a little girl eating cake. The little girl has beautiful brown hair. She runs around a lot and then is sick. The dream seems familiar somehow, but Sara can't remember why.

**IIII**

Sara is sitting on the wall at school again. She has a book. A boy grabs it from her and throws it on the ground. Sara doesn't try to pick it up. She made that mistake before.

"Your Mum killed your Dad."

Sara says nothing.

"Your Mum doesn't love you anymore."

"Yes she does."

"Then where is she?"

Sara has no answer. She gets up from the wall and tries to walk away but another boy appears, and then another. They circle her so that she cannot escape, no matter how hard she tries. They begin to mock her. "Poor orphan Sara. Nobody loves you. Look what your Mum and Dad did to get away from you." Sara approaches the boy who took her book and punches him hard in the face. The boys laugh at Sara and go and tell the teacher. Sara picks up the book and sits on the wall again, until the teacher comes and takes her into the classroom to tell her off.

_Nobody loves me.  
__Everybody hates me.  
__I'm going into the garden to eat worms._

**IIII**

Sara is sitting on a chair in the kitchen. New Mum and Dad are looking at her. They look disappointed. This is worse than all the times when old Mum and Dad got cross.

"Violence is never the answer."

"He deserved it."

"No matter what people do, punching them never helps."

Sara plays with her fingernails. She feels a lump rise in her throat but she swallows it down.

"Don't do it again."

"I won't."

Sara leaves the kitchen and goes into her bedroom. There is something stirring inside her. She has lots of memories. She doesn't know where they come from. She wants to get rid of them. She needs to do something. She looks in the mirror at her hair. She picks up a pair of scissors and begins to cut. Locks of silky brown hair fall to the ground. New Mum. New Dad. New brother. New house. Now all that's needed is a new Sara. But cutting her hair seems to bring a new memory. She hears her mother's voice in her head.

"_Promise me you'll never have it cut."_

It seems promises mean nothing anymore.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_Children begin by loving their parents, After a time they judge them. Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.  
_Oscar Wilde

_In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.  
_Anne Frank


	3. Act Three

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

_**Act Three**_

The curtains draw on a girl sitting at a desk. She is in a library, in a high school. Theroom is empty apart from her and a book. She is eating a sandwich slowly whilst concentrating on reading. She has thick brown hair, straight apart from a kink at shoulder length. She unconsciously twirls it around one finger, from the hand which is not holding her sandwich. She looks about fourteen. A bell rings and she packs up her book and sandwich into a bag. She leaves the library. Two girls are walking down the corridor. They point at Sara as she leaves and giggle quietly. She ignores them and continues walking. There is no depth in her eyes. No recognition of her surroundings, no acknowledgment of the laughing girls. She is beautiful in a can't-quite-put-your-finger-on-it kind of way yet there is a haunting loneliness about her. She walks through a set of double doors, not bothering to hold them open for the girls behind her. They swing shut and she disappears from sight.

**IIII**

The girl is sitting at the kitchen table with her book open once again. The phone rings. She ignores it. A boy maybe two years older than her runs in and picks it up.

"Hello?" he answers, then hangs up. "They've already gone. Thanks a lot, Sara."

"It's never for me."

"That doesn't mean you can't answer it."

Sara shrugs. The boy looks annoyed. He grabs Sara's book from under her nose. "What you reading now?" Sara doesn't reply. "Say sorry and I'll give it back." Sara gets up and walks out, making no effort whatsoever to retrieve her book.

**IIII**

Sara is sitting in a lesson. The two seats either side of her are unoccupied. She doesn't seem to mind. She has spread her books out. A teacher stands at the front of the classroom, writing physics notes on the board. The others in the class are chatting quietly amongst themselves, not paying any attention. The teacher turns around, looking exasperated. Then she catches sight of Sara. Her eyes are glowing with true fascination and she is carefully copying the notes from the board. The teacher smiles slightly and continues writing notes.

A piece of screwed up paper flies through the air from someone at the back of the classroom. It hits Sara straight on the back of the head. The whole class bursts out laughing, except Sara. The teacher looks angry now.

"Calm down! I mean it – be quiet or I'll call the principal." The laughter subsides until the classroom once again is only filled with a low level of chat. Sara keeps working.

**IIII**

Sara is lying on her bed gazing at a photograph in her hand. It is rat-eared and faded, yet she clutches it as though her life depends on it. In fact it is her life. That one picture contains the only link Sara has to her past; the only proof she has that the fading memories she has of her old Mum and Dad are not just a dream. Her family does not know she still has it. They never told her to forget her old life, but they never encouraged her to remember it. Sara hears approaching footsteps. She quickly, but carefully, places the photograph under her pillow. A knock sounds on her door.

"Come in."

Her Mum pokes her head around the door.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Fine, thanks."

"You don't want to join your Dad and I? We're going to watch a film."

"No thanks, Mum."

"You can go out if you like. As long as you're back by midnight."

"No thanks, Mum."

Her mother looks concerned but resigned.

"Ok. If you change your mind-"

"Night, Mum."

"Night."

As the door closes, Sara pulls out the photograph again.

**IIII**

Another birthday cake. Funny, Sara thinks, how not just her age, but her life, seems to be measured entirely by birthday cakes. So many memories, albeit faded ones, centred around her birthday; cakes on the floor, cakes making her ill, every now and then a cake not causing problems. This time she is sixteen.

"_Happy Birthday to you,  
__Squashed tomatoes and stew  
__Bread and butter in the gutter  
Happy Birthday to you"_

Sara smiles gently as Mum chides her brother for his take on the traditional song. A scene of domestic life, yet Sara still feels she has never truly experienced family. Something has always been missing. She loves her family but there is something not quite right; like a part of her soul is not there. It is left behind, in a past long since buried and forgotten by everyone but Sara. And her mother, she supposes. She wonders about her mother a lot. She tries not to dwell on it. But it is hard. And it's not as if she has much else to think about.

**IIII**

Sara is surrounded by fellow students. Everyone is hugging one another, elated. Sara is hugging no one. She sits herself down in a corner. She is pleased to be amongst the high school graduation celebrations, but mainly because it means she will never have to be back here. A woman standing on the other side of the room catches her eye. Sara suddenly feels a wave of sadness, her first regret to be leaving school at last. She stands up and makes her way over to the woman.

"Bye, Sara."

"Bye."

"You'll go far."

Sara begins to blush slightly. She never was entirely comfortable with praise. Maybe because she never used to get that much.

"I mean it. Good Luck."

"Thank you."

The woman takes Sara into her arms and they embrace briefly. For a moment Sara wishes she could stay at school. Then two girls behind her point and giggle at the sight of the tall, slightly lanky girl embracing her teacher. The wish fades in a second.

**IIII**

"Call us when you get there."

"Of course."

"We'll miss you." Sara's Mum takes her in her arms and tears begin to run down her cheeks. Sara attempts to conjure some emotion; it hurts her to feel so little. Yet somehow for the whole ten years she has been here she has always felt like a temporary guest. She loves her family. But she is glad to be leaving. The past eighteen years have been merely a step; a necessary evil on the path to her future. In her life she has had new schools, new homes, new parents, a new brother… Now it is truly time for a new Sara.

"Bye."

**IIII**

A sign comes into view. 'Harvard University', it reads. Pushing her brown hair back from her face, a girl's heart lifts. She stares out of the coach window.

"It's a beautiful area, isn't it?" The brunette nods in agreement with the girl sitting next to her. "I'm Katie Henshaw."

"Sara Sidle."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too.

**IIII**

"So, what are you interested in?"

"Um…Physics."

"Ah. So you're majoring in physics, are you?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"How about you?"

"English."

"Really?"

"Yes."

The conversation grinds to a halt. Some date, Sara thinks. But at least she's trying.

**IIII**

"He didn't?"

"I know! Just like that!"

"Oh my God, Sara, I can't believe it!"

"I know! And he said to me, 'I know you'll go and tell Katie all of this now.'"

The girls burst into a fit of giggles. Sara honestly believes in that moment that she has never been this happy. It is superficial in so many ways, but nothing can ever make her feel more joyful than she is right now. She has a friend; they have something to talk about and share; she is surrounded by intelligent young people who do not judge her by her past. She has not a worry in the world.

Sara wishes that nothing will ever, ever change.

**IIII**

Sara is sitting up in bed, a look of panic on her face. Her dreams are getting more vivid. She can feel her heart racing. She can hear sounds yet she cannot make out what they are. She can see lights, but not where they are leading. A feeling of panic grips her. She breathes deeply for a few minutes. Eventually she lays her head back down on the pillow. But she cannot close her eyes. She does not sleep.

**IIII**

It is 2am in the morning and Sara is sorting through a pile of work. Tonight she cannot lie awake. The frustration caused by the non-moving clock drives her crazy.

She is making arrangements for her departure. She cannot stay. She needs control; she dare not think of what may happen should she loosen the firm grip she is maintaining on her life. She is scared that the time will come when she has nothing to do but leave; she needs to get out while it is still her own choice. She tells herself that she misses the West Coast, her home. But truthfully she has nowhere to call home; certainly no where better than Harvard. It is far more complicated than that, but Sara will not admit it.

She picks up a pen and begins to write a letter. _'Dear Mum', _it begins. But this is not her new Mum. They barely speak on the phone once a month anymore. Sara wants to regret this, but the truth is it does not bother her. This letter is to a woman whom Sara can only reach through her mind. She tells her everything that has happened in the last few days; since her last letter. She is gripped by a feeling of abandonment and desperation. In a fit of tears she screws up the letter and throws it in the bin.

She climbs back into bed. She leaves the light on. She screws her eyes shut. She does not sleep.

**IIII**

The day that Sara leaves Harvard is a strong competitor in the competition for the worst day of Sara's life. She smiles her way through it anyway.

"Come and visit."

"Of course."

She embraces Katie. She feels tears prick in the corner of her eyes. She has such a horrible feeling that Katie will not visit. Her best friend; the person she has felt closest too in her whole life. Memories still plague Sara's mind. She has images of people that she can barely remember. She can still smell her mother's shampoo. She can still hear her parents arguing. She can still feel the squeeze of a strange woman's hand, leading her out of her home for the very last time. She can still feel the tears running down her cheeks.

All of a sudden she realises that the last one is not a memory. Her cheeks are wet with salty moisture. She pulls away from Katie, turns around and hastily wipes away the tears, ever determined not to let anyone see her emotions; she learnt that lesson a long time ago. Convinced she has recovered herself she turns around.

"Katie-" she begins. But then she realises Katie is now a couple of metres away, talking to someone else. She is already forgotten, she thinks.

She is suddenly aware that a new stage of her life is beginning. Picking up her bag she walks away. She cannot look forward. But she will not look back.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_Nessun maggior dolore,  
__Che ricordarsi del tiempo felice  
__Nella miseria_

_No greater sorrow than to recall in our misery the time when we were happy.  
_Dante Alighieri (from The Divine Comedy: Inferno)


	4. Act Four

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

**Act Four**

The curtains draw on a lecture. A brunette, sitting in the back row, is staring into the distance. The words of the speaker before her, with beard and seemingly never-ending notes, float straight over her head. She has a card in her hands. It is from Katie. It has been five years since Sara left Harvard. Three years since the two women last met. That is scary for Sara. Not the fact that they have not met. Sara's past is like a muddled jigsaw, full of parts which refuse to fit together no matter how hard she tries to force them. So many people and places are slowly fading into memories. What is most scary to Sara is the fact that she is a woman. She never felt like a child. Yet somehow she has never felt like an adult. She is caught in a world of limbo; laden with the burdens of maturity yet never quite past the confusion of childhood. She has a degree, a job, a home. She lives each day, in and out of work, lectures and seminars; never allowing herself to contemplate what is missing from her apparently perfect and simple life. She slowly reads the card and decides she is not going to write back. She is not keen on kidding herself or others. She and Katie barely know each other anymore. A few niceties on a piece of paper will not change that. Sara might as well save the trees.

**IIII**

Sara lets herself into her apartment. _Home sweet home, _the old phrase went. Sara almost laughs out loud as she contemplates it. Her flat smells of damp. The light bulb in the hall flashes and goes out as Sara flicks the switch. She swears out loud remembering that she has no spare bulbs. She makes herself a bowl of soup, stirs it distractedly and then pours it down the sink without eating any. Sinking into the sofa she gets a book out of her bag. It is a forensics textbook. Not riveting reading for most but Sara invests all her hope in learning from texts like these. She no longer can pinpoint the moment where her life failed to mean anything to her but she is aware that she has invested what little hope and dedication she has to her job.

She reads for hours on end. By the time she realises it is long gone midnight she no longer feels the need to sleep. She sits upright on the sofa and surveys her surroundings. There has to be something more to life than this, she thinks.

Epiphany is the word, she later decides: that moment when, in a seemingly ordinary scene, your life changes. Actually, in this case, Sara decides to change her life. But it is equally momentous. She tidies up and forces herself to put on the radio. She buries any negative thoughts from her mind. From that moment onwards Sara is a new woman. She is a woman, full stop. She pulls herself out of limbo. She still cannot look back but she is determined to look forward.

**IIII**

We are in another lecture. This time the lecturer has no beard and no notes. He is speaking off the top of his head. His audience are not exactly attentive. A boy in the back row looks little more than sixteen, although logic says he must be older than that. He has his headphones in and is tapping his fingers, clasped around a pen which is getting no use, along with the music. A woman sitting to the left of the room is making more use of her pen but the doodled hearts and stars on her piece of paper imply that her full attention is not on the speaker in front of her.

A woman in the front row, however, is listening and watching intently, making careful notes. Her dark hair kinks awkwardly at shoulder length and every now and then she places a strand of it behind her ear. Her eyes focus on the man speaking before her. He has an audience of more than twenty people, at an estimate, yet she feels he is speaking directly to her. Their eyes meet for a second and the woman sees a glimpse of something beyond this lecture; beyond this place. It is a strange moment.

The lecture ends, far too soon for the woman. She packs up her belongings deliberately slowly. The lecturer is also slow but it doesn't seem to be so deliberate; he struggles to fit his folder into his bag.

"Excuse me, Dr Grissom," the woman says as she makes her way out of the room.

"Yes?" he mutters, seemingly not in the mood for a chat. But as he glances up at her his gaze seems to soften. "Can I help you?" he adds.

"I just wanted to say that your lecture was inspiring."

"I think that might be going a bit far."

"No, really, it was fascinating."

"Thank you."

The conversation dries up, leaving an awkward silence in its place.

"So- I better be going," the woman murmurs. "Thank you again."

"Wait-" Dr Grissom says. "What's your name?"

"Sara Sidle." There is silence once again.

"Bye," Doctor Grissom says.

Sara has no reply for this abrupt goodbye so she simply leaves.

**IIII**

Sara, with her hair straggly and grown longer than usual, is tired. Her slender and fragile frame is draped awkwardly over an armchair, her head on one armrest and her legs dangling over the other. She has found a job she loves although she still finds it perverse that she derives pleasure from examining the places in which others died. But the rest of her life suffers because of it. She works double, triple, once even quadruple, shifts. She does not eat often.

Her eyes are closing slowly but all of a sudden she shakes her head and pulls herself out of the chair. She awkwardly moves her neck, as though she has a crick in it. Wearily she makes her way over to her bathroom. As she turns on the bath taps the phone rings. Sara sighs and turns them off again. It is with no great sense of urgency that she answers.

"Sara Sidle."

But the minute she hears whoever is on the other end of the phone call her face seems to brighten.

"Really - are you sure?" she says down the phone, a glint in her eye and animation in her face that has not been present for a very long time. The conversation goes on. She wanders the house energetically, nodding her head and running her finger along dusty surfaces as though she is finally able to see clearly what needs to be done. After a few minutes the call appears to be over.

"I really appreciate this. You won't regret it, Dr Grissom."

**IIII**

Sara has had a hair cut. She has started spending ten minutes just putting on make-up in the morning; Sara never wears make up but she feels the need to make the right impression. Las Vegas is everything she thought it would be and a lot more. Whether that is more for the better or the worse she is not sure but the job is definitely living up to expectations.

"Are you paying any attention, Sara?"

"Sorry," she replies. The blonde woman walking beside her looks irritated.

"I'm sure you are, but maybe next time you could try listening in the first place."

Sara resists making a sarcastic retort. The job may be all she could hope for but she does not think that Catherine Willows likes her very much.

**IIII**

The calendar says 2006. So much time has passed and Sara is not sure where it went. She thinks that Catherine has come round to her a little. She has friends who can even rival Katie in the form of Nick, Warrick and Greg. She has a job she loves.

Sometimes she considers her past and cannot understand how she has got to where she is now. She cannot track the path from family to family, job to job, city to city. She cannot fit together the pieces of her life without something being blurred or something not quite matching up.

"Have you ever loved someone?" asks the woman sitting next to her.

_Good question,_ Sara thinks to herself, but she does not say anything aloud; instead she takes hold of the woman's hand as she sees tears running down her cheeks.

"I really loved him," the lady sobs, her matted hair hanging lank on her cheeks. "And I never told him enough. I can't believe I wasted so much time."

Sara takes the woman into her arms; making a futile attempt to comfort someone who has just lost her husband.

"So much wasted time," she repeats, and the words echo in Sara's head.

**IIII**

It has been a hard day. Sara lies back on her bed, fully clothed. A lump rises in her throat. Images of death float around in her tired mind. All of a sudden a picture appears that is far too familiar. For a second she cannot pinpoint her recollection of the woman, crying over a man's bloody body. But then her memory realigns with the pictures in her head and she can no longer swallow the lump. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks and she makes no attempt to wipe them away.

"_So much wasted time…"_

She reaches for the phone and dials a familiar number.

**IIII**

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I shouldn't have bothered you. It's just- I-"

"Don't be silly. Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Where do I begin?"

"I find the beginning's usually quite good."

"How long have you got?"

"As long as it takes."

She stares at her stubby fingernails and plays with them; she says nothing.

"Come on, Sara."

"I can't, Grissom."

"Yes, you can." He moves over to the seat next to her and takes her hand, cautiously in case she does not want his affection.

And then it comes; out pours Sara's story. The story of a little girl, a misfit; a girl who loved her mother very much. A story of birthdays; of trips out with her father; of friends who did not exist. The time when a little girl walked in on her dead father; the foster family who tried their best but never quite worked. The university which was too perfect; the friendship which could never last. The discovery of a passion; the revelations of a present which is haunted by the past.

_Are you lost or incomplete?  
__Do you feel like a puzzle, you can't find your missing piece?_

And all of a sudden Sara finds the missing piece of her puzzle.

**IIII**

"I do."

Two little words slip from her mouth and change her life forever.

The scene is that of a wedding; an intimate gathering of friends to witness the joining of Sara Sidle and Dr Gilbert Grissom. Sara's face is glowing, her hair is thick and glossy and her eyes are shining. She can remember a birthday upon which she had a friend round. She had a cake. She can picture her mother smiling. She believes she has never been as happy as she was on that birthday until now.

A song plays in the distance.

_What if I'd been born fifty years before you?  
__In a house on the street where you live?  
__Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike.  
__Would I know?_

Maybe her life is like that; full of possibilities. Things that depend on chance; some work out, some don't.

_In a wide sea of eyes I see one pair that I recognize.  
__And I know that I am the luckiest._

Time has slipped through her fingers but now she feels at peace.

She is the luckiest.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_True love's the gift that God has given  
__To man alone beneath the heaven  
_Sir Walter Scott

_Tempus fugit  
__Time flies  
_Ovid


	5. Act Five

Firstly I just want to say thank you for the reviews, they are greatly appreciated. Secondly, although I know I should not use my story as a personal messageboard, I just wanted to ask whether anyone else uses the YTDAW forums and if so whether it is just me who is unable to access them right now? I'm just trying to establish whether it is my computer or a more general problem. Anyone who could shed some light on this would be of great help. Thanks.

Anyway, enjoy act five...

Em xxx_

* * *

_

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

**Act Five**

The curtains draw on a peaceful scene. A new mother, cheeks glowing, lies in a hospital bed. In her arms, a swaddling baby sleeps serenely. There is something familiar about this picture. This time the woman's hair is not quite as thick and it hangs slightly lank. There is no light cast through the curtains; it is the early hours of the morning. But the tired woman and the baby are equally as beautiful as the first time round.

The man who enters is also familiar, but he is not the same one who appeared at his wife's bedside nearly forty years ago; that man's life ended long ago, long before the life of this baby began. This man has a beard, a subtly happy smile and loving eyes, particularly as he gazes upon his wife and daughter.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Exhausted," she replies. "But I wouldn't trade this feeling for the world."

He moves over to the bed and sits down beside her. Gently he takes the sleeping baby from her arms and welcomes his daughter into the world.

"I was thinking of Jennifer," the woman says.

"I like it," her husband replies, smiling down at the child.

And so Jennifer Grissom-Sidle begins her life.

**IIII**

_Happy Birthday to you,  
__Happy Birthday to you,  
__Happy Birthday dear Jenny,  
__Happy Birthday to you._

Sara helps her one year old daughter extinguish the candles on her absurdly large cake. She knows that all this fuss is her attempt to replace the less happy memories of her own childhood but she cannot help the extravagant celebration. She is surrounded by balloons, banners, cakes, biscuits, sandwiches. The ideal children's birthday party, although the only guests are Sara, Gil and Jenny.

"Shall I take you upstairs?" Gil asks rhetorically as he scoops his little girl up from the ground. She starts to cry.

"Leave her," Sara says, reaching out for her daughter, but Gil heads towards the door.

"She's tired, Sara."

"It's her birthday."

"And she's only one."

"I wanted it to be special," Sara replies, sounding angry.

"And it was."

"But now it's over?"

"It's way past her bedtime."

"Fine." Sara turns away and picks up the cake. "I'll just go and throw this away then."

"Don't be stupid, Sara."

"Oh, I'm stupid now, am I?" She marches into the kitchen and we hear the sound of a smashing plate. Hurriedly, Gil follows her. The squashed cake is in the sink, mingled with smashed crockery.

"Why did you want to do that, Sara?"

"You tell me. Maybe it's because I'm stupid."

"Please, Sara, don't do this. You're upsetting Jenny."

The little girl's crying gets louder and louder as she attempts to wriggle free of her father's grasp.

"Just put her to bed, will you, Gil!" Sara cries.

"I thought you wanted her to stay up?"

"It's a bit late now," Sara retorts. "Just take her upstairs."

Gil does as Sara says. When he comes back down, Sara has gone. She returns two hours later to find him asleep on the sofa. She cries herself to sleep that night. It seems that even with her best efforts, her upbringing cannot be buried. Just as her own birthdays ended in tears and broken crockery, so will those of her daughter.

Two hours later Sara, still awake, is pulled from her bed to attend to Jenny's crying. She does not stop for another two. By the time Sara goes back to bed it has gone midnight. What a way to end the day.

**IIII**

"Is she asleep?" Gil asks.

"Yes. So you better turn the television down." Gil does so. The scientific bug television show is not teaching him anything he does not know.

"Are you ok, Sara?"

It is two weeks since Jenny's first birthday. Sara has not spoken very much since and her hurt upsets her family. Jenny has not been sleeping well and neither has Gil.

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me Sara. I thought we were past this."

"Past what?"

"Putting up a front. We wasted so many years. Let's not waste any more."

"Am I a bad mother?"

"What?" Gil seems shocked.

"Am I a bad mother, Grissom?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why? I called you nothing else for years."

"And then it changed, along with our relationship. Let's not go backwards. We've got so much."

"You haven't answered my question."

"You're a wonderful mother, Sara. The best."

"How do you know?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"If you'd asked me whether my mother was a good mother when I was young, I would have answered yes."

"That's totally different."

"How?"

"You're not your mother."

"No. I'm her daughter. And Jenny is mine. Look what my mother did to me. What if I do that to our little girl?"

"What exactly did she do to you?"

"She killed my father!"

"Well, I presume you're not planning to kill me," Gil replies, trying to laugh.

"I'm serious, Gil."

"I know. So am I. You're a wonderful mother. And a wonderful wife."

Sara seems to give up. "I love you, Gil," she murmurs.

"I love you."

_Lights will guide you home.  
__And ignite your bones.  
__And I will try to fix you._

**IIII**

"Mummy!"

A little girl crawls around on the floor. Her hair is blonde. This reassures Sara. She is not a mini version of her mother, as Sara was of hers. She is her own person, with her own personality, her own opportunities.

"Yes, honey."

"Bis-kwit."

"Biscuit, Jenny," Sara laughs. "No 'w'."

"Bis-kwit."

"No bis-kwit now."

Sara scoops up her daughter from the floor and spins her around in the air. The little girl giggles delightedly.

"I love you, Jennifer Grissom-Sidle," Sara sighs.

The reply is decisive.

"Bis-kwit."

**IIII**

"_A spider bought a bicycle  
__And had it painted black  
__He started off along the road  
__with an earwig on his back  
__He sent the pedals round so fast  
__he travelled all the day  
__Then he took the earwig off  
__And put the bike away."_

"I never heard of a spider on a bicycle, and I've been studying insects for a very long time," Gil laughs as he enters the room.

The little blonde girl has her head nestled delicately on her mother's chest, a hand clasped around the silky dark hair which hangs from her mother's head.

"Shh," Sara whispers, closing the poetry book. "Your science ruins the fun."

Gil sits himself down so that Sara herself can rest her head on his chest.

"My girls," he murmurs.

**IIII**

Birthdays are getting progressively better, Sara thinks. They have reached number five.

Twenty little girls and boys swarm around her feet as she carries in more food which is immediately grabbed by the little gannets. The noise is deafening. A smash is heard. Jenny is standing shamefacedly with a smashed plate at her feet, the biscuits on the floor already being picked up by hungry children.

"Sorry, Mummy," she chokes, her eyes filling up.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Sara replies. "It doesn't matter."

The tears immediately dry up and Jenny returns to playing with her friends.

It takes Sara a full three hours to clear up the house after an hour of polite conversation with the parents of Jenny's friends. She smiles her way through it. Even though Gil manages to make putting Jenny to bed last an hour, whilst she is doing the vacuum cleaning, Sara does not get angry. She clears the plates, sorts through the piles of presents, scrubs at a juice stain on the carpet and smiles the whole time.

**IIII**

"Don't worry, honey," Sara murmurs down the phone. "Jenny's asleep upstairs. I'll enjoy the quality time. See you later." She hangs up.

Gil has moved himself to the dayshift but the job is still not quite nine to five. Sara expected to miss her work more, but she unofficially occupies herself with Gil's cases and she tries to see her ex-colleagues as frequently as possible.

She pours herself a glass of wine and reaches for the television remote control. As she does so, the doorbell rings. She wonders who could be visiting at this time of night and it is with wariness that she slides the door open.

"Sara?" asks a woman on the doorstep. She appears to be in her sixties but her face is pale and drawn. Her hair is thin and grey and looks in need of a cut; it hangs limply way below her shoulders. Sara peers at her.

"I'm sorry- I- " she begins before something dawns on her. "Mum?" she gasps.

"Sara," the woman repeats, just before they both break down in tears.

**IIII**

A month later and the scene is clinical. We are not in a hospital, but some kind of care home; sterile and smelling of disinfectant. In a white washed room, some pink tulips hopelessly try to brighten the atmosphere. The woman with long white hair is lying in a bed, her face more haggard and her eyes dull. Sara sits beside her, clutching her hand, stray tears lingering on her cheeks.

"It's ok, Mum, I'm here," she murmurs.

"I'm so sorry, Sara."

"It's ok," Sara replies.

"I never meant for it to be this way."

"At least you found me."

The woman nods; the effort is obviously painful for her.

"I always loved you, you know."

"I know."

"Every day in that prison I thought of you. I imagined you in school, going to university, starting a career; getting married; having children."

"You imagined right."

"Yes."

"I'm so glad you got to meet Gil and Jenny, Mum."

"Not as glad as I am. Can you ever forgive me, Sara?"

"I forgave you long ago."

"When I first found out that this thing was eating away at me, my first thought was, 'I can't die without finding Sara.'"

"And you didn't."

"I got to spend my last weeks free, with you and your family. You cannot imagine how much that means to me."

"I can, Mum. It meant just as much to me."

"I love you, Sara, so much." Her voice is growing weak.

"I love you too, Mum," Sara replies, the flow of tears starting up again. "Please don't leave me."

"Sara, I have to go. My time's up."

"No, Mum, please." Sara is sobbing now.

"I've had a good life."

Sara cannot find words. "Good?" she repeats weakly.

"Good," her mother echoes. "From my life came yours. Very, very good."

Sara clutches at her mother's hand. "I've only just found you again."

"We've had our time, Sara. Let me go."

"I can't."

"Please. Just close your eyes, Sara."

Blinking through the tears, Sara does so. When she reopens them, her mother has closed hers.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears.  
_Francis Bacon

_The high-minded man does not bear grudges, for it is not the mark of a great soul to remember injuries, but to forget them.  
_Aristotle


	6. Act Six

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

**Act Six**

The curtains draw on a twelve year old girl. She has long blonde hair, brown eyes and a slender, pre-teenage figure. She is flicking distractedly through a magazine whilst playing self-consciously with her hair. The radio plays at a low volume in the background. A voice calls from behind the closed door of her bedroom. "Jenny!

"What, Mum?" the girl shouts back.

"Dinner's up."

"I'm not hungry."

"Your Dad and I are waiting, Jenny."

"I said I'm not hungry!"

There is silence for a moment and then we hear the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opens.

"Jennifer, I'm fed up of this," her mother says. "I've made dinner, so you will at least come and sit at the table with us."

"That's so unfair," Jenny whines. But after a look at her mother's stern face, she follows her downstairs.

**IIII**

Sara is sitting next to Gil. Her eyes are watery and she is squeezing his hand gently. They are surrounded by other couples and children and before them is a stage. On it stands a blonde girl, aged about fourteen, singing. Their daughter, her voice beautiful and haunting,silencing the auditorium. As her song reaches its end, the room explodes with applause and cheering.

Sara and Gil turn to each other and lock gazes. They have never been so proud.

**IIII**

An argument is going on. Sara looks frustrated, Jenny looks determined and Gil looks exhausted. His age is starting to show. He is more than sixty, after all. He refuses to stop working, much to Sara's infuriation; he will not listen to her protests.

"Lizzie's Mum wouldn't react like this," Jenny spouts, glaring.

"When was the last time Lizzie asked her Mum whether she could go to stage school?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Jenny?"

"My teacher said I was talented. I could make it, Mum. But I'm not going to get anywhere slugging away at maths and English and history at school!"

"You'll get nowhere without your education, Jennifer."

Sara cannot stand to hear herself speak. She sounds like the woman she never wanted to turn into. Edging on fifty, with her hair greying in places, yet still retaining her beauty, she has watched her husband, daughter and herself grow into the perfect dysfunctional family: workaholic father, moody teenager and mother trying to hold everything together. She cannot decide whether she delights in the normality of her situation or mourns for what might have been; what she could have done.

"I can get an education at stage school – they keep up maths and all that boring stuff."

"Maths and 'all that boring stuff' are what are going to earn you a living," Sara argues back.

"Not if I have my way."

Gil decides to intercept. "You are a very talented girl, Jenny," he begins. "But your Mum and I have spoken about this and we think you should stay on at high school. When you're done there we'll see what happens."

"But that'll be too late," Jenny whines. "All good actresses start early. I'm already behind."

"Your talent will wait, sweetheart."

"You're so unfair!" Jenny shouts. "I hate you!" She storms out and slams the door behind her. Gil and Sara exchange looks. Observing the exhaustion in her face, Gil embraces his wife. Through the ceiling comes the sound of loud music and the books on the shelves begin to shake slightly from the heavy bass.

"There's one thing to be thankful for," Sara murmurs into the warmth of Gil's chest. "She's nothing like I was at her age."

**IIII**

The day Gil comes home and announces he is going to retire, is a cold, rainy one. It is not long after Christmas. Jenny, after yet another argument with her despairing mother, has gone out to meet a friend. She is a week off her sixteenth birthday.

"But why now?" Sara asks, confusedly.

"I thought you'd be pleased," Gil replies.

"Oh, I am," Sara assures him, taking his hand in hers. "But you always insisted that you'd keep on working until they forced you out."

"What makes you think they didn't?" Gil laughs, but his eyes betray sadder emotions.

"They'd never get rid of you."

"We lost Catherine to the East Coast when Lindsey went off to college, Nick and Warrick are still on night shift and Greg's getting more ambitious by the day – he's virtually my superior now. It's not like it used to be, Sara. I didn't think it was possible, but everything's getting more political. I'm like an old relic, sitting in my office with my bugs. I've been there so long I'm practically part of the furniture. I have to get out before I've got nothing else left."

Sara looks hurt. "There's always been something else. I've always been here, and so has Jenny."

"Of course," Gil replies. "I know that. And I've neglected you. I've wasted so much time."

"It's not too late."

"Yes, it is."

"What?" Sara looks confused. She grips Gil's hand. "What do you mean?"

"I'm so sorry, Sara."

Gil has tears in his eyes. Sara has never, ever seen him cry. She is panicking now.

"Tell me, Grissom, what's going on?"

The minute the words are out of her mouth, she wishes she had not asked.

**IIII**

There is a doctor in this scene, his status clear from his white coat and the stethoscope hanging around his neck; he is almost a cliché, with a pen protruding from his coat's top pocket.

"I'm sorry, Dr Grissom," he is saying, shaking his head.

Gil and Sara are holding each other, tears running down their cheeks. The doctor watches them, clearly unsure of what to say. He leaves the room cautiously; Gil and Sara sit in silence.

**IIII**

The family of three are sitting around the table. Jenny, her blonde hair cut short in a moment of teenage rebellion, has a flood of tears running down her cheeks. She stands up and makes her way round to her father whom she embraces tightly. After a few moments she excuses herself.

She entered the room as a child but she leaves it an adult.

**IIII**

Gilbert Grissom always wanted to see Europe with his family. His body is weakened and he now needs some help to walk but despite his doctor's recommendations, he was never going to miss this trip. He has seen Paris, Barcelona, Lisbon; they have been travelling for two weeks. Now here he is, with his beautiful wife and daughter, sitting in a café in Berlin, opposite the _Mauermuseum_. Out the door he can see the mock checkpoint, the large sign with a photo of a soldier, crowds of people wanting their photographs with the actor standing dressed as an American soldier. He is sipping hot chocolate slowly, Sara is reading a guidebook and Jenny is trying to make sense of a German newspaper.

"What does _Umwelt _mean?" she asks.

"Environment," Gil replies. Taking a last look out the window he adds, "We better be moving soon. We've got a flight to catch."

"Not already?" Jenny moans. "Where does the time go?"

Grissom sighs. "I wish I knew."

**IIII**

Gil is sitting on the wooden bench in the middle of the pod, watching the city of London unfold beneath him, the sun setting on the horizon. The London Eye turns slowly, but not slowly enough for Gil, who wants this moment to last forever. Sara takes a seat beside him.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she sighs.

"It's perfect. Like you."

Sara giggles, sounding twenty years younger than she looks and thirty years younger than she feels. "You always knew how to flatter a woman, Gilbert Grissom."

"I'm not sure that's right," Gil replies. "I seem to recall I was quite good with bugs, but not quite so suited to dealing with people."

Silence descends upon the couple as memories flood over them like an unstoppable tide. Here, halfway round the world, and now, twenty years later, those days in the lab with Catherine, Nick, Greg and Warrick seem a light year away.

'_And now it's all over', _Sara thinks, immediately banishing the thoughts from her mind. As though he can read her thoughts, Gil immediately takes her hand in his and speaks softly.

"I've had a wonderful life, Sara."

"Don't say that," Sara chokes, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "It's not over yet."

"No," Gil agrees. "And whatever time I've got left, I'm not going to waste. But when I do go-" He holds up a finger to stop Sara interrupting. "When I go, I don't want you to stop living because of it. Remember the good times, Sara. It won't be hard – there were a lot of them."

Sara's eyes have filled with tears now. Seeing Jenny approaching them to sit down, she hurriedly wipes them away.

"Hey, honey," Gil says, squeezing up on the wooden bench so that she can fit alongside her parents. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"It's amazing," she replies. "I've got some great pictures."

As the pod reaches the very top of the wheel and the whole of London is visible through the glass, Grissom feels a feeling of immortality wash over him. He knows that whatever happens he will live forever in this moment; his soul will live on in the love of his wife and daughter. This is not the end.

**IIII**

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

Sara throws a handful of dirt onto the wooden box as it is lowered into the ground. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she does not care that everyone can see. Her daughter squeezes her other hand tightly. Sara gazes at her child, blond hair tied back in a ponytail, her slender curves framed by a black skirt and shirt. At this moment she feels little more than a child herself, although she knows she looks even older than her fifty years. The feel of her daughter's hand in hers brings back memories of being led out of her home more than forty years ago by a social worker. Not since that moment has she felt this lost. Gil Grissom was her purpose in life; her guiding star; her everything. Without him she does not know what to do. All she has left is her daughter; she is plenty to live for but each time she looks into her eyes she sees Gil.

The funeral passes in a blur of condolences, tears and glasses of champagne. Gil said he wanted this to be a celebration but as much as Sara wants to keep her word she cannot be positive.

Once everyone has left Sara and Jenny sit down on the sofa surrounded by empty glasses and leftover food. Sara places an arm around her daughter and the two of them start to cry again.

Behind them on a shelf sits a photograph of a young Jenny with her parents. Gil is smiling warmly; watching his two girls as they fall asleep and dream of him.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of.  
_Benjamin Franklin

_It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives.  
_Dr Samuel Johnson


	7. Act Seven

Last part's up. Thanks to everyone who has been reading!

* * *

_All the world's a stage,  
__And the men and women merely players:  
__They have their exists and their entrances;  
__And one man in his time plays many parts,  
__Its acts being seven stages…_

**Act Seven**

The curtains draw on a scene a full ten years later. Sara has reached her sixtieth year. Her hair has thinned and turned salt and pepper grey. Her face is lined and her lips thinned but she still possesses the beauty that we viewed in her as she blew out her candles as a little girl and as she filled her time in the library at high school; the beauty which made Gil fall in love with her. Her eyes are shining with a light which would never betray her age. Those eyes cloud over as she settles her gaze on a woman standing before her. She has blonde hair arranged delicately in a bun on the top of her head. Her dress is white silk, framing her slender figure.

"I wish your father could be here," Sara says to her daughter. "He would be so proud."

"He's watching us today, Mum, you know that?"

"I know, darling," Sara murmurs, and then focuses her full attention on Jenny. "You look so beautiful."

Jenny blushes and reaches behind her to pick up her veil. Carefully she passes it to her mother who in turn places it gently on her daughter's head.

She looks so beautiful, Sara thinks. But the delicate lace veil cannot hide the tears in her daughter's eyes.

**IIII**

Sara is opening her front door. Standing on the other side is a couple. One is her daughter, elegant as ever, and the other is her husband. They are both grinning.

"Jenny, Matthew!" Sara exclaims. "Come in!"

They do so.

"We have some news, Mum."

The broad smiles have already planted suspicions in Sara's mind but she plays along.

"What's that?"

"I'm pregnant!"

Sara may have expected the news but she still is blown away to hear it from her daughter's mouth. She throws her arms around her daughter and then her son-in-law.

"Oh God," she laughs. "That means I must be really old."

**IIII**

Sara is sitting in the corridor of a hospital looking nervous. She reaches up to fiddle with her hair but then remembers that she had it cut short. She felt too old to have hair long enough to tie up in a ponytail. She taps her fingers nervously on her knees.

"Mrs Grissom?"

She still starts when she hears her own name; even after all these years it sounds strange to her ears. The name Grissom takes her back to her youth; her time as a CSI in the Las Vegas Crime Lab with Warrick and Nick, both nearing retiring age now, Catherine and Greg. Ironically she did not refer to herself as Mrs Grissom until after Gil's death, as a way of keeping him alive. Before that she was always Ms Sidle. She pulls herself out of the chair and follows the receptionist through to a consultation room.

Sitting herself in front of her doctor, she takes a deep breath. "So?"

"I'm afraid we have bad news."

**IIII**

This scene looks similar to the last. Sara is sitting in another hospital corridor, with a door next to her. From behind the door come the yells of childbirth. This time Sara is equally as nervous but it is nervous excitement. A few minutes later, Matthew bursts out of the door.

"The head's out!"

"Oh my God," Sara murmurs. "I'm a grandma."

"Nearly," Matthew laughs before responding to an anguished cry from his wife inside the delivery room.

Just seconds later James Gilbert Grissom Morris enters the world.

**IIII**

"Someone said that every time a new life enters the world, someone else dies to equal it."

"Mum, where is this going?"

"Jenny, I don't want you to get upset."

"Mum, you're panicking me."

"I have cancer, Jen."

Jenny takes a deep breath. "What?"

"Lung cancer."

"But you've never smoked."

"These things happen. My mother died of cancer. It's in the family."

"No," Jenny chokes. "Not you. Not when we lost Dad too."

"I have to go some time."

"Mum- don't say that. Surely they can do something?"

"I'm too far gone, Jen." Tears start to flow from the blonde women's eyes. "Don't cry." But as she takes her daughter in her arms her own eyes start to fill up.

**IIII**

Sara has her grandson on her lap. He is three months old. She is thin and her face is drawn but she musters the energy to bounce little Jamie up and down on her knee. She picks up a photograph sitting on the desk beside her.

"This is your Grandpa, Jamie," she sighs wistfully. "He would have loved you."

Jamie gurgles.

"He would have taught you all about bugs. He knew a lot. I miss him."

Jamie gurgles again.

"But I'll see him again soon."

**IIII**

Sara is lying in a hospital room. On one side of the bed sits her daughter and son-in-law. On the other lies Jamie in a crib, fast asleep. There is a restful silence before someone knocks on the door. Wearily, Sara looks up. A man, aged in his sixties, walks through the door. Sara draws her breath, although she cannot breathe too deeply. "Greg?"

"Hi, Sara."

"I don't believe it. I-"

"How are you?"

"I've been better," she laughs.

"Hi, Jenny," Greg says, recognizing the woman he last saw when she was six years old. "And you must be Matthew. And baby James." He notes the looks on Sara and her family's faces. "I have my sources." He taps his nose.

"It's so good to see you," Sara says. She can feel her eyes filling up.

"You too."

"Jenny, could you give us some time?" she asks her daughter.

"Sure, Mum."

In the next two hours Sara is transported back forty years. She relives her first day and her investigation of Warrick. She remembers extraordinary cases. She recalls the slow progress of her and Grissom's relationship. She discusses the lab explosion. She is taken back to her wedding. She hears of Greg's successes before his own retirement. She laughs and she cries.

Eventually Greg stands up and leans over the bed to embrace his friend.

"Bye, Sara."

"Bye, Greg. And thank you."

As he leaves the room, both are aware they will never meet again.

**IIII**

Sara's body hurts more than she ever thought possible. Her breath is shallow and her joints are stiff. She just manages to clutch her daughter's hand.

"It's ok, Mum."

Her son-in-law and beloved grandson have just left the room.

"I love you so much, Jenny."

Sara cannot help but remember her own mother's death. So many other scenes flash through her mind. She can picture her mother with long silky dark hair and she can still smell the shampoo she used. She can still feel the hold of the social worker's hand as she led a young Sara out of her home. She can remember her foster parents, now long dead. She can recall the time she spent with Katie at Harvard as a young woman with so many hopes. She can recall the facts imparted to her at the lecture in which she met her future husband. She cherishes memories of her working life. She can feel the touch of her husband.

Lying on her death bed is a woman with such history. She has affected so many people and so many people have affected her. Two sets of parents have died before her. She has lost colleagues, friends and the one person she loved more than anyone in the world.

But now she is about to join him.

"Have a wonderful life."

"Shh, Mum."

"I mean it. Bring up Jamie well."

"I will."

A lump rises in Sara's throat.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mum."

"I'll say hello to your father for you."

"You do that."

Jenny squeezes her mother's hand and feels the grip loosen and finally slacken altogether.

And so Sara Sidle leaves the world.

The curtains fall.

**IIII**

_What is he buzzing in my ears?  
_"_Now that I come to die,  
__Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"  
__Ah, reverend sir, not I!  
_Robert Browning

_Dying  
__Is an art, like everything else.  
__I do it exceptionally well.  
_Sylvia Plath


End file.
